Look at that, - [best motivational books of all time .TXT] 📗

daily, according to the “well, you never know” logic, by dozens of messages, 99.9% of which simply went down the drain like the myriads of spermatozoa sur-rounding the egg the moment the quickest or coolest, or the most opportunistic one penetrates it.

Hope lied with the second, the so-so ones, who, hav-ing lost all hope, weren’t hanging around online any-more till someone took notice of them and as a result were brushed off by both the more recent, and still optimistic, arrivals and the old-timers who had set up camp there. Having gone unnoticed for such a long time, they felt disheartened and were therefore willing to make discounts, to some extent of course – as they had no doubts about their self-worth whatsoever – for someone who, like a football scout hunting for talent in the local neighbourhood, would discover and ap-preciate them in the right dimension.

The sure thing was that they would match, maybe even surpass, his joy to finally receive a message, as well as the anticipation to open it, read it all in one go, click on his profile, examine it inside it out, stare at his photos again and again, enlarge them, imagine him, fantasize over him, and read, psychoanalysing and deconstructing the text that complemented it all. Well, that was quite something yet definitely not quite

+ after all, they had realised how, that way, they were completely being degraded.

+ over the fact that they had received a message.

Simos Panopoulos - Look at that

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enough, if, in the meantime, with horror, they discov-ered his answers to the accompanying questionnaire. Because it wasn’t bad enough that he had put down atheist for religion, he had also noted “no way” and “definitely not” to the marriage prospective and chil-dren questions. Yet, would the world explode had he at least put down “agnostic”, “maybe” and “nothing is excluded” respectively? More importantly, was it such a big deal, instead of admitting to his actual age so uninhibitedly, to subtract, especially when every-one said that he didn’t even look it, five or six years from his age? For, because he didn’t, it might have been to his advantage to stress it everywhere else except for here where it was to such a degree one’s trademark and branded him, eclipsing the rest of his features as fully as the indelible tattooed number on a Jew’s arm in Dachau.

That was the only point he radically disagreed on with his friend Matina,